Downtime
by Grace O'Malley
Summary: A look at the lives and loves of some of the secondary characters.


Title: Downtime

Author: Grace O'Malley T  
Word count: 3,800

Characters: Crashdown, Kat, Hotdog, Helo, Cally, Gaeta  
Spoilers: Through "Flight of the Phoenix"

Disclaimer: They're not mine

Author's notes: Three connected short stories. There are pairings, but I'd rather leave them to be discovered in context than spill here.

Downtime

Part 1: _Crashdown; Fragged_

Crashdown fights with the raptor's controls, desperately trying to pull her nose up and avoid obstacles on their way down.

"Everybody, hang on! Hang on! Hang on!" He doubts they can even hear him with the wind screaming through the broken view shield. Between the wind and blood dripping down his face from a hundred tiny cuts, he is nearly blind.

Crashdown may have trained to fly raptors, but he is not a pilot. He is a geek who loves his instruments, his data, and his calculations. Because he does his job in a raptor instead of behind a desk, he can pretend to be more adventurous than most of his brethren. But he knows what he really is, and he silently prays to the Lords of Kobol.

Having done all he can to control their landing, he covers his face with his forearms and prepares to live up to his nickname. His only regret is never having told Melinda Davis that he loves her.

Crashdown had come to _Galactica_ as a stranger, having followed Adama's order to rendezvous at Ragnar Anchorage after the devastating initial Cylon attack. He and his pilot had been on a routine flight when they witnessed the complete destruction of their home, the battlestar _Hercules_. Two thousand friends and colleagues, thousands of tons of metal plating and ordinance. All gone in less than the blink of an eye--as if they had never existed.

_Galactica_ had nominally welcomed them, but they still felt like strangers adrift among Adama's tightly-bonded crew. Twenty-four hours later, evidently overcome by grief and despair, his pilot had hung himself. Only Crashdown was left to mourn him.

Crashdown is grateful for Chief Tyrol's assistance in evacuating the downed raptor.

"Everybody up! Cally, up, up, move!" The chief has a cool head in a crisis, and the knuckle-draggers respond to his voice no matter what hell is breaking loose.

"Come on, Doc! Doc! Doc!" Crashdown and the Vice President are too close to the raptor when it explodes. His head slams into the ground so hard he sees stars. When he stands up, he has trouble hearing and he feels slightly sick to his stomach.

He barely takes in the Chief's question, "...do you have a plan for tactical deployment?"

_Tactical deployment?_ he thinks. _Yeah, sure, stay alive until we get rescued!_ But through the nausea and confusion what he says is, "Carry on, Chief."

Crashdown walks away to throw up. He was trained as an officer, but he has never truly commanded or even supervised another human being before. Nonetheless, responsibility for everyone's survival is now his, and his alone. He heaves again, and takes a sip of water from his canteen.

The slim, pretty brunette was, like Crashdown, something of an outsider on _Galactica_. Ensign Melinda Davis had been in her final year of officer training, and attended _Galactica_'s decommissioning ceremony along with the other nine top members of her class. She'd been put to work overseeing navigational instruments in the CIC, under the supervision of Lt. Gaeta.

He'd met her in the officers' mess, and for Crashdown it had been "love" at first sight.

He'd sleuthed out her duty schedule and contrived to take his meals at times he thought she'd be having hers. He'd studied Starbuck and the other pilots, and tried to cultivate a badass swagger. And when Melinda called him "Crash" he felt like the hotshot she believed to him to be.

"Lords of Kobol, take these brave men into your arms. Take upon your arms the spirits of our fallen--" Crashdown hesitates; he knows he's made a mistake, but it takes him a moment to determine where. "Take up in your arms the spirits of our fallen friends so that they may share in the everlasting life that awaits us all beyond the vale of tears. So say we all."

He successfully mouths the words he is supposed to say for Socinus and Tarn, but he is not certain he believes in them any more than he believes in his ability to lead these people. What he does understand is that without belief there is only ritual--ritual, discipline, and hierarchy. Without these things, there will be chaos.

It is Chief Tyrol who confirms what the Cylons are planning. "They're building a missile battery... They can just sit back and launch a missile barrage that will wipe out every living thing in this valley... The _Galactica_'s gonna send a search and rescue team... When those raptors come looking for us-- "

"The Cylons will shoot 'em down." Crashdown has no doubt that if they do nothing, everyone will die.

The first time Crashdown made love to Melinda Davis was just after the successful mission against the Cylon's tylium refinery. But it wasn't just the foaming beer and general elation that had drawn them together. It had been the right time.

Free of its usual ponytail, her long brown hair fell around her shoulders. He had helped her pull her undershirts off over her head. She flushed, then smiled when he swallowed hard at the sight of her breasts.

And when he entered her, she whispered in his ear, "My warrior. My hero."

_If I survive,_ he thinks, _I will ask her to marry me._

"We can't go up against an armed and defended position like that," the Chief protests.

Crashdown respects the Chief's experience, but he is weary of being second-guessed. The chief lacks the training, and maybe even the vision, to see the bigger picture.

Crashdown knows his plan is conventional, but convention got that way for a reason.

"What the hell was that?" Dr. Baltar actually squeaks at the sound of the sonic booms.

The chief explains, "Spacecraft entering the upper atmosphere."

"It's the SAR mission. They're here!" Crashdown doesn't understand why his people don't seem to care. If they don't act immediately, two more raptors full of people will die.

He keeps trying to explain, "Our people are up there! We have to save them!"

Cally refuses to obey his order; the chief is verging on mutiny.

_How did things get so out of control?_ Crashdown thinks frantically. He is the senior officer; they must obey his orders. To do otherwise will mean chaos and certain death. He points his weapon at Cally's head. She is crying and he cries inside too. Her ponytail looks so much like Melinda's.

End Part 1

Part 2: _Kat and Hotdog; Final Cut_

Sickbay smelled of disinfectant and stale cigarette smoke. The privacy curtain was partially open and Doc Cottle motioned for Hotdog to go on in.

Kat lay with her hair spread out over the pillow. Her eyes were haunted by shame and shadowed by a fatigue more profound than a mere lack of sleep.

"Hey Kat."

"Hey Hotdog." She smiled to see him. "What's that?"

"What's what?" he teased.

"What are you hiding behind your back, asshole?"

"That's my girl!" He grinned at her, then pulled out a childish drawing. "Flowers. See?"

She laughed at him. "You shouldn't have. So it's a good thing you didn't!"

"Hey!" he said with mock indignity. "I wanted to bring you the real thing, but even if I was getting paid, which I'm not, I couldn't afford the going rate for a single flower from the gardens on _Cloud Nine_. So you don't believe it's the thought that counts?"

"Hmph." She sat up, crossed her arms across her chest and pointedly looked away. But she reached out a hand to take the drawing. "Thanks, that was sweet. But I'm still not 'your girl.'"

Hotdog sighed. This was a well-worn fight. "Kat… It's a figure of speech. Trust me, I'm not under any illusion that you're my girlfriend."

She set the drawing on her bedside table and folded her arms again. "Good. We may have frakked a couple of times, but that's--"

"Why?"

"Why?" she echoed. "Because I was horny and you don't smell too bad."

"No, Kat, that's not what I'm talking about."

"Oh. You mean you want true confession time." It was a statement, not a question. "Because I know I'm not as strong as you and the others, but I didn't want to be the weakest link. And yes, I realize now that's exactly what I was. The drugs just made it worse, not better."

Hotdog pulled a chair close to the head of the bed and sat down. He took one of Kat's hands in both of his.

"No, that's not what I mean either. I understand why you took the stims. Don't you think we've all thought about it?"

She frowned at him as if refusing to believe that she wasn't more in need of artificial aids to alertness that anyone else throughout human history.

He glared back at her. "No, what I don't understand is why you never told me what you were going through."

"Because I didn't want you to know. Duh."

"You don't want me to fall in love with you? Okay. You feel how you feel, and I accept that. But whatever else _isn't_ between us, I'm your friend, your comrade in arms, your fellow pilot. We fly combat missions together for frak's sake! I feel safer out there because I know you have my back--and you should know that I always have yours. Always."

Kat wouldn't look him in the eye.

He continued, "Whatever happens, whatever you do, whatever you feel…you're not alone."

Kat buried her face in the pillow and burst into tears.

Hotdog tried to reach out to her, tried to brush her hair back off her face, but she smacked his hand away.

Between sniffs and gasps for air she managed to blurt out, "I'm a coward. I let you down. I let everybody down."

He grasped her shoulder despite her attempts to shrug him off. "No you're not. You're a damn fine Viper pilot and I'm proud to serve with you."

"Ha!" she sneered at herself. "You were a frakking hero on our second training run! Frakking _Starbuck_ likes to have you on her wing. I was lying here feeling sorry for myself, while you were out there killing Cylons and saving Kingston's hairless ass."

"Kat." He waited until she'd stopped sobbing and he had her full attention. "Do you know why I washed out of the Academy?"

She shook her head.

"My chops were good enough, but nowhere near as good as I thought they were. I thought I was a superstar, not just another trainee Colonial pilot. That made me a danger to myself and others. I wasn't mature enough to see it at the time."

"So you're calling me immature?" She looked at him with suspicion.

"No! I was talking about me. _I_ wasn't ready. Now I am. You were overwhelmed and thought you had no support, no options. Now you know better. It won't happen again."

He kissed her on the forehead.

Doc Cottle poked his grizzled head in through the privacy curtain. Smoke curled up from the cigarette he jealously guarded between two fingers. "Visiting hours are over, kids. Hotdog, it's time for you to leave. This young lady needs to catch up on her rest."

"Of course, Doctor," Hotdog acquiesced. Then he added to Kat, "I'll come back tomorrow--if you want."

"Yeah." Kat smiled out of red-rimmed eyes. "Bring me a crappy drawing of some chocolates."

Hotdog grinned and dipped his head. He stood and turned to make his way out of the curtained cubicle.

"Oh, and Hotdog…"

He stopped and turned back around to look at her.

"There's nobody else." She shrugged, but the expression on her face was earnest. "I just thought you should know."

End Part 2

Part 3: _Helo, Cally, Gaeta; Flight of the Phoenix_

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it, Lieutenant Agathon." Cally's respectful words were delivered with a sneer.

Someone else sniggered, but Helo couldn't tell who it was. In truth, he didn't much care.

At least he had a flight scheduled; one of the raptor pilots must have lost a bet. With Crashdown dead, Racetrack was the only other fully qualified ECO, and she was pulling extra shifts so no one would have to fly with him. The CAG should have put his foot down.

Helo looked at Chief Tyrol, who looked right through him in return. _That_ snub cut; of all people, he'd thought the chief might understand.

"Ow! Frak!" Cally jerked her hand out of the raptor's access panel. There wasn't much blood, but a jagged flap of skin hung open across the palm of her hand. She thought she could see the shiny white of exposed tendon, but looking at it made her feel sick.

"Sorry, Chief, this is pretty bad. I'm going to have to go see the doc to get it stitched up."

The chief didn't even look up, but waved a wrench in her direction by way of acknowledgement.

Cally's heart sank even lower. She'd killed a Cylon--a Cylon who'd tricked and used him. And he hated her for it.

"You okay Lieutenant?"

Gaeta finished washing his hands and splashed cold water on his face. He was grateful for Dee's concern, but the formality of their professional relationship meant he could never freely share his frustrations and fears with her--or anyone.

"I'm fine, thanks. But how are you? I'm so sorry about--"

"I'm good," Dee cut off his apology. "All cleared for duty by Doc Cottle."

"That's the best news I've had all day. But be careful--that Cylon virus is still active, and I don't know what it might do next."

In trying to turn the water off, he managed to turn the flow all the way up, spraying water over the front of his uniform.

"Frak," he said, far louder than he'd meant to.

Dee handed him a towel. "It's not your fault. She chased his eyes with her own until he stopped evading and met her steady gaze. "You saved the fleet by building that temporary network, and everyone knows it. You'll get rid of this virus and save us again. We all know that too…sir."

He felt himself flush, and broke the eyelock between them. All he could choke out was, "Thank you, Dee."

She smiled, touched his shoulder, then turned to leave the head.

"If only," he whispered to her once she was gone. "If only…"

"Can I help?"

"Uh. Thanks for the offer, Lieutenant Agathon, but it's really not necessary."

At least the chief would look at him now--it seemed their fight had cleared the air to some small extent.

"Look, I'm not a half-bad engineer, and I really would like to help. It's not as if I have anything else to do…" Helo bit his tongue. He would not whine about the freeze-out.

The chief looked up at him, set his jaw, and evidently made up his mind. "Yeah, okay. Petty Officer Dualla's been working on the com system. Maybe you could have a look at navigation?"

"Sure. I'd be happy to. And Chief…"

The chief had bent his head back to his work and didn't bother looking up. "Huh?"

"Thanks." Helo smiled at no one in particular.

"Here you go, Chief." Cally prided herself on knowing exactly which tool he would need for any task. Not only did she usually know before he could ask, she often knew before he'd even composed the thought.

The chief was crouched underneath the wing framing. Without looking up, or expressing anything more than a grunted thank you, he reached a hand out to accept the offered wrench.

Cally tried again. "I'm so sorry we ever doubted you, Chief. It's just that…us…building a ship from scratch… It seemed like an impossible dream."

"It's okay, Cally. I understand." He stood, but still didn't look at her. "To tell you the truth, I didn't believe it myself."

He ran a loving hand over the framing. Awe lit his face, as if the ship had constructed itself without need for the labor of his calloused hands. Finally, he looked at Cally. "This baby's gonna fly."

Cally smiled at him, but her heart was still as sore as her bandaged hand.

Gaeta hadn't seen Sharon since she'd been dragged out of the CIC after the shooting. And this wasn't even the same Sharon; it was some kind of duplicate with the other Sharon's memories as well as her own. His mind rebelled at trying to understand.

Looking at her now, decked out in chains and arrogance, he couldn't believe this was the pretty girl he'd had a hopeless crush on--the one who'd danced with him at the Colonial Day celebration. He couldn't believe this was the heroine whose hand he'd shaken after she'd risked her life to destroy a Cylon Basestar, mere moments before she'd tried to murder Commander Adama. There was no sense in the Universe.

"Mr. Gaeta," this Sharon said with perfect formality as if she knew him and his place from long association.

A shiver ran up his spine.

"Can you set me up with a fiber optic com link?"

He looked at the Commander with thinly concealed disbelief.

"Do it," came the order.

And so, like the good officer he was, he complied. Then he waited to see what would happen next.

"Hey Helo," Racetrack called out. "This party's dying--want to go play some cards?" She and Duck and Starbuck were already headed out, cigars and half-empty pickle jar drinking glasses held high.

Helo smiled, but he hesitated. He'd kind of gotten used to being a loner.

"Ah, com'on, Helo," Starbuck wheedled. "We need to get out of here before those two do something nobody wants to see!" She jerked her head in a gesture indicating Kat and Hotdog who were leaned up against the blackbird making out.

Kat lifted a hand off Hotdog's ass long enough to flip Starbuck the bird.

Starbuck gave a bray of laughter in response, then turned her attention back to Helo. "I think we need some more booze. Would you mind stopping by the tool room to raid the chief's still? We'll meet you in the mess hall."

Helo felt his grin widen. "Okay, you're on." It was good to be home.

Cally wasn't entirely certain how she'd come to be propped up against a shelf with her overalls down around her ankles and her undershirts pushed up. She vaguely recalled enticing Lieutenant Gaeta to the tool room on the pretext of refilling their drinks. But the chief himself might come in at any moment to check on his still. That thought horrified her and made her smile all at the same time.

"Uh, Lieutenant," she whispered. "Maybe--"

Lieutenant Gaeta stopped kissing her earlobe and neck long enough to smile at her and say, "Under the circumstances, I think you should call me Felix."

Once more she tried to suggest they go elsewhere. "Uh, Felix…sir--"

A very sweet, warm kiss stopped her speaking further. Gaeta unfastened his tunic, dropped it to the floor, and pulled his undershirts off. His bare skin felt warm against hers as he slid lower, kissing his way along her collar bone. He lifted her undershirts out of his way, and drew one nipple into his mouth while teasing the other with thumb and forefinger.

_Nevermind_, she thought for as long as she was capable of thinking in actual words. All that escaped her lips was a moan.

Gaeta wondered why he'd never noticed her before. After all, she was totally his type: with the long dark hair, big melty eyes, and an exceptionally kissable mouth. It was probably because he rarely saw her. His work didn't bring him to the flight deck, nor did hers to the CIC. Recreation generally segregated them as well. _Frak the rules,_ he thought. _Just frak them._

He kissed her breasts and ran his hands over her ribs. _Who knew that such lust-inducing curves were hidden away under the hideous orange coveralls and bulky tool-belt?_ Okay, so there was a faint odor of viper grease about her, as well as dark lines of the stuff permanently embedded around her fingernails. Still, he was already beginning to find it a turn on. He thought himself a very lucky man indeed, and dropped to his knees.

She giggled when he kissed her navel, and combed her fingers into his hair. Not pushing him further down…just encouraging.

He worried at the elastic of her panties with his teeth, but the elastic was winning the battle.

Cally giggled some more.

Determined, he reached up and ran his hands down over her tiny waist and slender hips, and simply tugged the annoying fabric out of his way.

He heard Cally inhale sharply, and then gasp when he started exploring with his tongue.

At the sudden sound of the door opening, adrenaline shot through his body. The result was instant sobriety.

Cally gasped, and not with pleasure, when the overhead light came on.

Gaeta stood, giving Cally some cover from the eyes of whoever stood in the doorway. He stayed facing her, and didn't turn around.

"Whoa guys! So sorry. Didn't realize anyone was in here."

It was Helo. _Thank the Gods,_ thought Gaeta. Helo was the last person, apart from maybe the chief, who would tattle on an inappropriate relationship.

"Could you turn the frakking light off, please?" Gaeta tried to sound nonchalant, like he got caught frakking in tool rooms all the time.

"Oh, sure."

The light went off.

"Sorry."

Gaeta didn't understand why Helo didn't simply leave.

"Um, I'd better fill this jug, or someone else is going to come, and you'll just be dealing with this all night long…"

Gaeta could hear Cally breathing in his ear; it sounded tight and too fast.

"It's okay, he whispered to her. "He won't say anything." He gave her a little squeeze of reassurance.

She nodded.

"Just hurry up, Helo. Okay?"

Gaeta heard the sound of liquid pouring, then the squeak of a valve being shut off.

"Yeah, sure. That's it. Okay kids, carry on--but maybe next time get a room, huh?" Helo chuckled as the door slammed shut behind him.

Cally buried her face in Gaeta's shoulder and trembled. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair. "It's okay," he murmured, thinking she was upset.

But when she raised her face for a kiss, he could see that she was laughing.

He kissed her mouth while she ran her fingers over his shoulders and chest. The bandage on her hand scratched a little, but he didn't mind.

When he broke for air she looked up at him smiling and said, "Did I tell you how much I like your tattoo?"

The End


End file.
